Free Lone Wolf by Nigel Findley Page A

key burner fact in that report’s going to be that the Cutters are getting into bed with some Tir-based corp.
    Okay, the corp linkup isn’t that much of a burner. Everyone knows—or at least guesses—that the Cutters do dirty work for various Seattle-based corps. To my personal knowledge, the gang has taken minor contracts with outfits ranging from small fry like Designer Genes to a half a dozen or so “triple-A” megacorps like Ares Macrotechnology. And those are the ones I know about.
    What’s interesting is that this new contract is from out of sprawl—in fact, from out of United Canadian and American States entirely. The general buzz on the street is that the Tir doesn’t do much business in Seattle, except through numerous intermediaries so that the high-tone elves don’t get their lily-white hands dirty. Now, I'm hearing something else. If the buzz is on the money, there’s a major Tir corp that not only wants to do direct business in the plex, but is also interested in acquiring assets on the shady side of the street. Something the Star might be interested in knowing about? No fragging farce.
    I don't know why the Tir corp chose the Cutters, or how they got in contact with Blake. It’s not like you can just look up “Cutters, Executive Offices” in the LTG listings. (I know how I’d do it, but I’ve got background knowledge and resources an out-of-sprawl corp wouldn’t have ... I think.) Anyway, that’s basically irrelevant. They did make contact, and they did carry out preliminary negotiations.
    And now, there’s the first official face-to-face meet between Blake and reps of the corp, whichever one it happens to be.
    The meet’s scheduled for the ops room in the sale house near Sea-Tac—the place where I drek-kicked Ranger—and Blake’s pulling out all the stops. From what I hear, it’s a “closed” meeting: only Blake and his advisors—Vladimir and Springblossom—and the reps of the Tir corp present. The ops room will be sealed tighter than a devil rat’s ass, with an army of mundane and magical firepower outside. The room itself is protected by a big-time medicine lodge—set up by Springblossom, who, for the first time in our acquaintance, isn’t stoned out of her head. That means nobody can eavesdrop astrally or slam some unpleasant spell into a fetish carried in by one of the corp reps (or, presumably, get in or out by sidestepping to another plane). Basically, the idea is that Blake and his advisors won’t have their Praetorian guard with them, but the corp reps will know that if they do anything ill-advised (like scragging someone), they’re not going to get out of the ops room alive.
    (A quick digression. If Blake’s got any brains—which he does—he must still be a tad edgy about security. Are the corp reps who they say they are? Or is the whole thing a setup? Drek, if I was a rival gang leader wanting to off Blake, this would be a great way to do it. Lots of possibilities come immediately to mind. Okay, so the Cutters’ security is set up so the corp reps get geeked if they kill Blake. But that only happens if Blake knows he’s been hit. How about a slow-acting poison or bioagent? Three days later, after the “corp reps” are long gone, Blake, Vladimir, and Springblossom convulse and die. Or maybe you don’t even have to be that tricky. One of the reps could be a kamikaze, wired with explosives. Or ... well, anyway, you get the idea. All I can do is assume that Blake’s done his homework on background checks and all that drek. And, of course, hope that if there is a belly-bomb involved, it’s only a small one. End of digression.)
    My station for all of this folderol is in the hallway outside the big door of the ops room. Box is beside me, wearing his finest torn leathers. We’re both armed to the teeth, but that’s all for show. Our orders are to keep everything in our pants unless and until Blake personally orders us to take action. And yes, Virginia, even if